Bobbo Byrnes

“Dieses Land ist dein Land
Dieses Land ist mein Land”

German was not their first language
They don’t know English either,
but they are trying

A Syrian boy, about ten years old, won’t take his eyes off of me.

We sing and change more words.

“Vom Schwarzwald forest bis zur Spree…river”

The meter no longer works but the idea is the same.
Woody wrote a universal song of love and belonging.

A Fußball takes over the room and children are running around the community center.

The boy approaches me.
His dark blue sweatpants say Los Angeles down the left leg.

“Are you America?”

“Yes, I am American.”

He makes a gun with his fingers.

“Why Trump want to kill me?”

and runs away.

I am gutted.
He keeps his distance.

We try more songs and sing-alongs, he stays away but his eyes never look away.
I try to close the gap. I tell him I don’t want to hurt him.
He makes a two finger gun, repeats his question and runs away.

I cannot reach him.
I cannot undo what he has heard.
I want to hug him and tell him,
Tell him he is wanted and loved and worthy.

He is an orphan of war.

I am fearful of how he will grow up.
I wanted to be an American voice of love.
But he cannot hear me.
All he knows is his parents are gone and he is alone.

And I am America.


~Bobbo
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Picture Copyright: Tara Kelly